


Burning History

by Shoutandscreamy



Series: Original Work [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied Nazis, Other, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25471858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoutandscreamy/pseuds/Shoutandscreamy
Summary: You bring a boy to travel along with you to prove a point.
Series: Original Work [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845019





	Burning History

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a creative writing class. I'm putting it on here for easier access.

“It’s awfully warm,” the boy next to you says, “for a night in spring.” He wings his feet against the concrete of the building the two of you are sitting on top of. Despite his words, he rubs his gloved hands rapidly together. You wonder briefly if he is acting out of anticipation or he is colder than he let on. The friction between his hands could hardly make a sound louder than the chains of crackling fire several blocks ahead of you. 

“I suppose it is,” you hum, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your knees. Your body rocks forward slightly, threatening to spill over the edge. You feel the impulsive temptation to risk leaning further. How much weight will it take to force you to plummet? Would the fall kill you, or only hospitalize you? 

“You never told me where we are.” the boy reminds you. You take a breath back into reality. You lean back and look over his soft features. His eyes are fixated ahead of him. He doesn’t seem to mind your starting. 

“We are in Germany, 1933.” 

“Why are we here?” 

You don’t answer him right away. You watch the gears in his head turn to find the answer for himself. Seeing how he came up with nothing, you interrupt his thought process before he could try again. “Come,” you gesture for the boy to follow you. Without a moment’s hesitation, you laugh yourself over the edge. Wind rushes through your hair as your stomach churns uncomfortably. With a sharp gasp, you straighten your body to increase your speed. You count the seconds it takes for you to reach the bottom. Right as your feet are about to collide with the ground, you’re suddenly transported directly next to a pile of fire. Soldiers shout at each other as they fed the arguing fumes with seemingly endless fuel. They chuck book ungracefully into the fire as the public watches, horrified thoroughly, and shout protests.

Waiting until the boy reappears at your side, you continue, “what you’re seeing is the fall of Institut fur Sexualwissenschaft.” 

“Institute of Sexology.” The boy translates unhelpfully. You congratulate his correctness with a nod. 

“It is a record collected by a man with the name Magnus Hirschfeld.”

“What’s the importance to him?” 

“In this time, being a religious and gay man is a crime. He had a collection of papers and books about as such.” 

“Being a religious and gay man?” The boy repeats, astonished. 

“And much more,” you say. You hold out your hands near the red and golden flickers of burns. You feel the heat envelop over your fingers and hands. Another impulsive temptation whispers with a startling urgency to five your hands into the fire. Deciding that's enough indulgence for one night, you drop your hands to your side. With a steady breath, you walk toward another pile of ashing books to distract you from your own self destruction. 

“Why does this propose a problem?” 

“Because humans are stupid,” you respond bluntly. The boy scrambles to follow your footsteps. 

“Where is Magnus now?”

“Exiled. He’s speaking in France.” 

“A powerful hated man like him should have been killed, then.” The boy points out not unkindly. 

“You’re right. The knowledge he possesses scare these men horribly. He has thousands and thousands of words about correction surgeries for those in the wrong body, and pages upon pages of words about injustice. He’s a leader.” 

“And?” 

“The dictator of this time does not wish to share his ship.” 

“Why not?” 

“Humans are stupid.” You repeat. 

The silence between you and the boy stretches as you continue the path of burning history. You see the ash of pain and suffering float to the air. A great work of help is completely ruined because of a self appointed righteousness. You reach the end of the piles. The yells of the protesting people become background noise. 

“So,” the boy says, “why are we here, truly?” 

“Because I want to show you what happens when other animals gain consciousness.” 

“We are animals.” 

“I was no excluding us. Now come, I have more I want to show you.” 

You don’t wait to see if the boy is following you as you walk into a wall. Predictably, before your body comes into contact with the aged brick, you face a new scenario. Instead of the crack of a fire, you are greeted with the bang of a bullet. 

“Where are we?” The boy asks behind you. 

“We are in Virginia, 1862.”


End file.
